


Rebuilding

by veritas_st



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-28
Updated: 2017-04-28
Packaged: 2018-10-24 22:56:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10751490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/veritas_st/pseuds/veritas_st
Summary: It wasn't fuelled by alcohol.  Or adrenaline.  It was simple.major character deaths!





	Rebuilding

It wasn't fuelled by alcohol. Or adrenaline. It was simple. It was all because of a stupid remote. They were watching TV, sitting on separate beds, eyes locked onto the crappy reception of the flickering set. Watching some god awful horror movie with some blond bimbo running up the stairs when she should have been running out of the house. Sam had shifted, knocked the remote onto the floor and groaned. Dean had rolled his eyes and sent Sam a look that read _good one geek boy._

Sam sighed and crawled around in the space between the beds, hands and knees, before finding the shitty plastic hiding half under Dean's bed. Sam had placed a hand on Dean's bed to steady himself, but had missed and his hand landed on Dean's thigh. Sam felt the muscles shift and twitch under his hand and looked up. Dean was staring down at him. His face carefully masked but his muscles twitching under Sam's hand. Sam curled his fingers slightly and Dean's lip parted and his breath stuttered. 

That was the first time Sam wondered what it would be liked to kiss Dean. 

\------------

It was after Dean managed to get himself back to him, crawled out of his own coffin and pulled Sam into a bone crushing hug. After that and Sam was staring at him with devotion, reverence and dammit, love in his eyes. It made Dean uncomfortable and he wanted to shout, scream stop fucking looking at me like that. But he let Sam look. Let Sam reach out with hesitant fingers and trace the skin where scars used to be. Run the tips over the places at used to be marred. Sam reached out to touch the hand shaped scar, the only scar on Dean's body, with a shaking hand and Dean stopped him. He stopped him even though he had no idea why, had no idea why he felt that Sam couldn't touch it, that it was the only part of him Sam wasn't allowed to touch. 

He let Sam love him that night. With soft words about how he couldn't believe Dean was back, and how much he'd missed him, how he'd gone crazy without him. And touches that went way beyond brotherly affection. 

That was the first time that Dean wanted to feel his brother, really _feel_ him. 

\------------

It wasn't until it was all said and done. Blood seeping on the floor in some deserted church, making strange symbols on the floor and Ruby's meatsuit lying between them, motionless. _Finally_. It wasn't until that moment when the earth swirled and opened and they both reached out at the same moment and clutched at each other that Sam thought, _fuck it._

He pulled Dean close. Dean's eyes widened and Sam _finally_ covered his brothers lips with his own. Dean stiffened for a second, a split second before he was kissing him back, hands clutching at Sam's clothes, tongue delving into Sam's mouth, teeth clacking against Sam's. 

It was over far too quickly, and then Dean was curling his fingers around Sam's and pulling him from the church, leaving the unearthly howl and white light behind them as they ran, for their lives. 

\------------

Its kind of appropriate really. The first time Sam gets to feel what his brother feels like inside. 

Angels, the ones Castiel had managed to conjure up out of thin air practically, coming out of nowhere. Hunters crawling out of which ever Roadhouse they had been holed up in. Fighting together to finish the job. _The_ job. The big one. End of the world big. 

And the sky turns red for a few days, and the air is filled with screams and Sam and Dean watch the world burn and Sam shakes with the need for blood and Dean covers his hand with his own and Sam stops shaking. 

“We're not gonna win are we?” Sam asks. Dean turns his patented grin on him, and its all for show even though there is no one else around. 

“Sure we are Sammy. Its just another job. We'll win. We always do.”

And they do. Jesus Christ they fucking win. They loose a hell of a lot of good people though. Jo, Ellen and Bobby all fall. And more but Sam can't remember their names. They don't seem as important though. 

Not as important as Jo, who they hadn't seen since Sam tried to kill her arriving in a beaten up pick up. Blond hair still style-less but suiting her perfectly somehow. Smart ass comments on her lips and a smile in her eyes. Neck snapped in one fluid movement and the mother fucking demon doesn't even break his stride. Not until Dean plunges the knife between his ribs. 

Or Ellen, still Ellen. Motherly and harsh with soft edges. A slap to the back of Dean's head when he steps out of line and a smile for her daughter. Gone in the blink of an eye, body crumpling to the ground like a sack of potatoes. 

Or Bobby. Best damn man alive. Or so the brothers think. Not alive anymore. Gone trying to protect them, giving his life up for the boys he shared no blood with but were still family. 

Dean mourns him the most. Silent tears running down his face as Sam stand next to him, fingers clutched in his, three pyres burning in front of them. Their private funeral for their friends. And they've lost too many to count now. Blood of friends mingling in the ground with blood of strangers fighting on their side and enemies.

But Dean turns to Sam then, the scent of burning bodies, waxy scent that they shouldn't recognise, clinging in their nostrils and Dean pulls Sam close, burying his head in the crook of Sam's neck. Sam runs his hands down Dean's back and pulls him closer, wrapping him in arms, wanting nothing more than to keep his brother safe, for the rest of his life. 

The Impala is warm and welcoming, cocoon like and dark. A welcome respite from the cold air and warm smoke pouring of the pyres. Dean smells like leather and gun oil and smoke and tastes like whiskey and blood and salt. 

Dean kisses him like its that last day. Last day on earth. All pent up aggression and loss and need goes into the kiss and Sam bucks up under his brother, drags his brother down at the same time and groans into his mouth. Dean wriggles a hand between them and wraps his skilful fingers around Sam's cock. Words have no meaning as they spill from Sam's lip and Dean mouths spells for protection against his neck, whispers encouragements. It shouldn't be as mesmerising as it is when Dean spits into his own hand and grips Sam again. And then he's lifting himself and lining himself up. Sam lifts his hands and grips Dean's hips, thumbing a scar that's appeared since his arrive back from Hell. A mean looking gash that marks the pale skin. 

Dean lowers himself them, eyes rolling back into his head and Sam bits his lip, teeth breaking the skin he's biting so hard as Dean arches his entire body and lets himself drop. Sam's so deep inside, Dean is clutching at his skin and lifting himself up and down likes it the only thing he knows how to do right now. 

The end of the world averted and Sam is buried deep inside his brother as Dean clutches at him, begs him to make him feel and kisses the breath from Sam's lungs. He rocks above Sam, thigh muscles quivering and fingers digging into Sam's chest. Sam's name on his lips as he shudders and comes on Sam's belly. Dean leans forward and rolls his hips once and Sam's coming too, Dean's come hot and slick between them and Dean's mouth hot and wet on his pulse. The pulse that's trip hammering under his skin as Dean tangles his legs with Sam. 

“Its ok Sammy. We won.” 

Dean feels warm inside and Sam wants to stay, wants to stay buried inside his brother as the world starts again. A slow process of rebuilding and Sam thinks that's exactly what they're doing right now as Dean's fingers slide through his hair and grip at the base of his neck. 

Rebuilding. 

The world. Them. Everything.


End file.
